A Sweet Night, A Weary Soul
by zsra187
Summary: "You haven't had much luck with husbands, have you little bird? First the Imp... and now me." Arranged marriage wedding night, oneshot.


**A Sweet Night, A Weary Soul**

The poor little bird looked terrified.

Good. That was good. A terrified little bird was an alive little bird. The second she wasn't scared was the very second some cut-throat bastard would slink out of the shadows to snuff out her contentment. It was better this way.

Her hands were peeping out from beneath the covers, drawn up to her neck. He knew she was as naked as a newborn babe underneath; her lithe, supple young body spread out, waiting to be devoured by him and him alone for the rest of her miserable life. And miserable it would most certainly be, being married to him. _She may have said the vows_, he thought, _but she did not mean them_. _It's protection she wants, but whether it comes in the form of the Knight of the Flowers or an old scarred dog, it makes no matter to her_. Still, she'd stood in the godswood and echoed the words of the septon, her voice trembling in the freezing cold. That made her his. _His_.

The thought of it was enough to stiffen his manhood. Sandor could see her eyeing him from where he was standing in front of the fire, though her gaze never wandered down further than his chest. _Ever the courteous little lady_. Or maybe she was just frightened stiff. If he didn't know any better, he would have guessed that he'd been the one to force her into this position. Rather, it had been the other way around - _she'd_ proposed the marriage in that soft, hesitant voice of hers that had haunted his every waking moment since he'd held a knife to her throat after the Battle of the Blackwater. But now she seemed frozen, like a rabbit caught in a snare.

"You haven't had much luck with husbands, have you little bird? First the Imp..." He drained the last of the wine and smacked his burnt lips together when he was done. "And now me."

The girl's only reply was silence and more staring. She looked afraid of him, although Sandor had to admit he was in as vulnerable a position as she was ever likely to see him in. He was as naked as his name day, having been stripped of his clothes by the gaggle of overzealous hens who dragged him up here. The heat from the flames warmed the back of his thighs. He took a step closer to the bed.

He gestured towards the covers, pulled tightly across her body as if to shield the treasure within. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

The girl's eyes widened slightly, but she nevertheless shifted slightly in the bed to make room for him. _Ever the dutiful little bird_. He wondered whether she'd get down on her knees and suck his cock if he demanded it. He wouldn't; tonight she was scared enough. But maybe later, once she became accustomed to lying with him. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and reached over to pulled back the bedcovers, yet still the gods kept her from him. Sandor had to bite back a growl of frustration as he realised that she was far enough over her side of the bed to remain undisturbed by his ruffling of the covers. All he saw was a quick flash of pale skin in the darkness before he climbed in and settled on his back.

They lay in silence for what seemed like an age. The longer it went on, the angrier he could feel himself getting. The annoyance and frustration simmering within him flamed even higher as the sounds of the castle echoed all around them: the raucous laughter of the wedding guests down below, the whistling of the wind as it battered their tall stone tower, the wood crackling in the hearth. But not a word from his wife. Her silence was deafening. He wanted to grab her face and force it towards his. He wanted to pluck the words from her mouth with his own thick fingers. Sweet words. Maybe a sweeter song.

He turned his face to look at her full on. She seemed even more frightened than he thought she would have been. Granted, his face was a terror, but she'd been married to the Imp. That whoreson must have terrified her in the marriage bed, to elicit this kind of reaction in her.

A worm of guilt started to wriggle inside of him. Hadn't the poor girl been through enough in her short life? Perhaps he should talk to her a little first, to try and calm her. Only mocking her was the first thing that came to mind.

"The little bird seems to have lost her penchant for chirping," he ventured.

Her big blue eyes stayed glued on her hands. "My lord?"

"You've barely said two words since you swore your vows." That angered him as well. No matter how much he had ridiculed her for it, he always preferred the sweet, senseless chirping over the sombre grieving and silences. "The wedding was not to your liking."

That was not a question. He knew the bloody wedding wasn't to her liking; Sansa Stark deserved flowers, richly embroidered dresses and silk heeled slippers. She deserved a wedding feast to rival all wedding feasts; a hundred courses of silky, fragrant soups, stuffed swans and a dozen platters of the sweetest, crumbliest lemoncakes in the seven kingdoms. She deserved to celebrate with her family, to be walked into the godswood on the arm of her father. Sandor wanted those things; not for him, but for her. But it did not matter how much she deserved it. Her family were dead and her lands were ravaged. None of those things would ever come to be.

"I was pleased."

He laughed. "You were far from pleased. I could see it on your face as plain as day."

"I... I was pleased my lord husband was pleased."

His fingers itched to shake her. "Don't do that," he snapped. "Don't fucking lie to me like I can't tell the difference." He hated the thought of her lying to him. "A dog can smell a lie. Do you understand?"

There was quiet for half a heartbeat. The girl looked odd, as though she was wrestling some decision deep within herself.

"It was not how I had wished, or dreamed," she finally whispered. "But neither of my weddings have been."

He nodded. Of course. He remembered when she was a slip of a girl at Kings Landing she'd been half in love with Renly's flower, even though the Tyrell whelp had barely said two words to her. His armour was bright and his face was comely. That was the kind of man she wanted; a shining, handsome knight. He'd always known it, but somehow it stung all the more to hear the disappointment spill from her own lips.

"Well more fool me," he laughed bitterly. The brush of her lips against his in the godswood still whispered across his skin like a ghost. "Taken in by a kiss and the promise of a tight cunt."

He heard a sharp intake of breath. "The kiss..." she sighed, so quiet it was almost inaudible. She mouthed the word, her little pink tongue flitting out to moisten her lips afterwards. She couldn't look at him, but that didn't mean he wasn't getting his eyeful of _her_. A rosy blush stained her cheeks as her chest started to rise and fall in rapid motions. "The kiss..." she murmured again.

All this talk of kissing; he wanted to kiss her again. "Yes, the kiss. Did you like my burned mouth pressed to yours, little bird? No doubt _that_ wasn't what you dreamed."

His words were having a strange effect on her, he realised. Her chest was heaving even more now and she squirmed in the bed, bringing her hands to cup her cheeks as if to cool her skin. "The dreams..." she said. "The kisses and the dreams." Finally, _finally,_ she brought her gaze to his. "How did you know?"

Sandor didn't have a single clue what she was talking about. _Such a strange little creature_. "Know about what?"

"I dreamed of you in the Eyrie," she breathed. "Of the kiss..."

So the little bird had been having naughty dreams. He snorted. "Was I comely in your dream, girl? Did I kiss you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear?"

If she was distraught at his mocking of her, the girl showed no signs of showing it. Instead, she smiled shyly, her blue eyes finally shining with something other than fear. "No, my lord. You looked exactly how you look now."

"Arse naked?"

She blushed again but did not answer. Slowly, he shifted his body closer to hers. Earlier, he'd thought her being scared was a good thing, but now that her fearful expression had faded, Sandor was loathe to see it back again. He gently slipped a hand across her body, settling it in the dip of her waist. "Did I do this in your dream?" he asked.

She was still avoiding his eyes but her hand came up to rest on his upper arm. "Yes."

He slid his hand over the curve of her hip, down to her thigh and back again. "And this?"

The little bird nodded. Her fingers started to caress the skin of his shoulder, stroking tiny circles into his skin.

_Fuck_. Sandor let out a shaky breath, unaware that he'd been holding it. If only the girl knew what had been going on in _his_ dreams as of late. _She'd probably run for the bloody hills_.

So he started slow, moving his big hand from her hip across her belly. Her skin was baby soft and he felt her twitch as his fingers glided up to just underneath her breasts. Sandor was itching to touch them; to have her full, perfect teats in his hands after so long snatching glances when he towered over her. She squirmed and stretched as his fingers went higher and higher, which only served to bring her body closer to his.

"I... I don't know what to do," she whispered.

This innocent act had his cock harder than it'd ever been. "What have you done before?"

She hesitated, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Hundreds of images race through his mind of the things she must have experienced at the hands of that bloody Imp.

"I haven't done anything." She paused and his hand stilled. "My husband was kind. He didn't... he didn't... make me..." Her voice trailed off, but her fingers continued to stroke his shoulder. "He said he'd content himself with whores, until I wanted to."

So the girl was still a maid. That surprised him. _Idiot dwarf_. What kind of man has a jewel like Sansa Stark in his bed and then refuses her? The half-man, obviously. "The twisted little gargoyle likes to think of himself as the kind-hearted lion," Sandor growled in her ear. "But I never seriously thought he'd be such a buggering fool. Only a eunuch could refuse you, little bird."

The girl turned her face away. "I was very grateful for it," she said delicately.

She must bloody regret that decision now. The dwarf's cock was so small she'd barely feel its prick, but now she'd have to lie under him. She may have grown, but he was still twice her size. He'd hurt her, for a certainty.

She was still averting her gaze from him. He hated that. His fingers itched to take her chin and point her face towards his.

"And now you want me to do the same, hmmm?" The thought of it was too much to bear. Now he had her in his bed only a fool would let her go again, and if there was one thing he wasn't, it was a damned fool. "You want me to refuse you? To sleep on the floor and satisfy myself with whores until you decide you're good and ready to spread your legs for me?" _Bugger that_.

The girl remained silent, so he continued. "I'll die before I make the same mistake as that bloody dwarf." He leaned in and gently nipped her earlobe. "I mean to have you tonight, little bird."

He truly meant it too. But what good was having her if she cried the whole time? How much would he enjoy it if she couldn't look at his face? A man may lie with his wife whenever he wished, but what kind of man could bear to lay with a cold, frigid corpse in place of a warm, heaving chest and those ripe luscious lips? He wanted her, but he wanted all of her; her smiles, her laughter, her pleasure. When he dreamed of her cunt it was wet and she was willing. In his fantasy she looked him in the eye, unafraid.

But this little bird was still averting her gaze. Sandor settled himself for nuzzling her neck, pressing his burned lips against her skin. She inhaled sharply at the contact and her hand came up to cradle his cheek.

"Will you be gentle?"

Her soft voice was like sweet music to his ears; it always has been. He wanted to hear it moaning his name.

"Yes." He nodded. For her, he'd be as gentle as he'd ever been. Or at least he'd _try_, which was more than he could say for any other time he'd lain with a woman.

Sansa took a deep breath and turned to look at him. Finally, those blue eyes connected with his. "Then you needn't sleep on the floor..." she hesitated. "Husband."

Husband. Just one word, but he almost shivered to hear it. "Sansa..." he replied. "Wife."

Their mouths came together slowly, warm breath mingling and his lips moving gently over hers. Once he felt her tongue hesitantly flicker against his, he deepened the kiss and shifted both their bodies on the bed until they were flush against each other. Now he could properly enjoy her, and with any luck, perhaps she'd enjoy him too.

He longed to be inside of her, more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, but he'd also promised to be gentle. Gentle meant loving, and although Sandor wasn't sure whether or not he _loved_ Sansa, he knew he felt more for her than he'd ever thought possible to feel for another human being. _Kiss her teats, and her slit_, he told himself. _Kiss her all over_. Womenliked to be kissed, he was sure, and the little bird was definitely a woman and probably no different to all the others. Sandor kissed down the valley between her breasts, running his lips over each of them in turn. Her teats were perfect, her ivory skin unblemished. His thumbs tested their fullness, then came up to run teasing circles around her nipples until they were taut and she was whimpering with pleasure .

The sight of her - eyes closed, lips parted, teats heaving - would have been enough to undo any man. But for him, who had wanted her for so long, she was a vision of heaven. Delirious with pleasure, he abandoned her breasts and reached down to grasp his cock, giving himself a long, slow pull. He watched her as he stroked himself. Her hands were fluttering around like she didn't know where to rest them. _I'll show her where she can put them to good use_.

He reached out and caught her wrist. Bringing her hand to his body, he slowly flattened her palm against his abdomen. "You know where a man gets his pleasure, girl?"

She bit her lip in reply, and nodded. There was a pause, then all of a sudden her hands were there, soft as silk around his cock. Her fingertips danced up and down his length, sliding along the ridge on the underside of his shaft right down to his balls. When she cupped them in her palm - more brazen than he would have thought for a maid like her - and gave them a light squeeze, he groaned so loudly he was sure they must have heard him downstairs. Their eyes locked and she gave him a shy smile. "You keep that up, I'm likely to spurt all over your hands, and sure as fuck not in your belly." She blushed again, and he found himself grinning. "Lie back," he commanded. The girl did as she was told, settling herself down on the pillows.

She gave a yelp when he licked between her legs. He explored her slowly with his tongue; with long, slow licks he nudged her closer and closer to the height of her pleasure, devouring her as though he was a starving man and she was the feast. Her thighs trembled with need underneath his hands, her breathy moans grew louder and more frequent. Never had Sandor sacrificed so much effort to his partner's pleasure. His reward was a flood of wetness; the evidence of her desire that coated his lips and tongue. A heady aroma, and an even more delectable taste. His little bird was the most delicious wine he'd ever had the fortune to savour.

"Please..." she panted. Her voice was husky, her hair matted to her brow with a thin sheen of sweat. Two tiny, glistening tears had spilled out of the corners of her eyes and were rolling down her cheeks as she bit her lip to keep herself from moaning again. She looked thoroughly fucked. _And I haven't even got my cock inside her yet._ Sandor felt himself throbbing in anticipation.

"Please, it's too much," she cried again. "I can't... it hurts." Her hands had sunk themselves in his hair and her little claws scratched at his scalp as he bit down gently on the tiny pearl at the top of her slit, the place that seemed to give her such delight. "Please!" she gasped. "Enough, please!"

Obedience always came naturally to him; maybe that was why he stopped. Perhaps it was the fact that she looked as though she might faint if he did not. Either way, he wiped his mouth and sat up on his knees before her.

"I always knew you'd sing so sweetly for me," he said. "Do you remember me telling you that, little bird? All that time ago? So sweetly."

Sandor took himself in hand, his cock hot and heavy in his palm, but as he moved forward to settle himself between her legs she stilled underneath him. He felt like a beast looming over her, one hand on her knee and the other wrapped around the base of his shaft. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned Kings Landing. She was such a frightened thing back then, and he gave her no cause to be anything other than terrified of him. That was a mistake, the first of many he was sure he'd be making in this marriage. _Just fuck her and be done with it_, he told himself. _She's yours. No use all this waiting._

He shifted between her thighs, letting the tip of his cock slide up and down her slit. The girl was still breathing heavily, but he could sense her unease. He was so close. He pressed his head against the entrance to her cunt but stopped short of pushing in entirely.

"What is it?" His voice sounded harsher than he meant it to.

She shook her head, her eyes closed. "Nothing," she whispered.

_She's probably imagining someone else in your place, you bastard._ Someone more comely. Half of him wanted to let her have her fantasy, the other half wanted to snatch it from her and rip it to pieces in front of her eyes. _Let her pretend_, he finally decided. Just this once, let her have her gallant knight.

His fingers tightened on her porcelain skin as he pushed into her. At the last moment, Sandor remembered his promise to be gentle but that still did not prevent the sudden cry of pain that left her parted lips. The sound twisted like a knife in his belly. Looking down, he saw she had her fists bunched hard in the covers. He drew out a little until, then pushed back into her warmth, stopping only when he was fully sheathed inside of her. Her cunt clenched satisfyingly around his shaft, sending a tremor of pleasure up his spine.

Unable to remain still any longer, he started to move his hips, drawing himself out of her slowly before rolling back in. The throbbing in his groin was unlike nothing he'd ever felt, dampened only by his constant terror that this was somehow going to be too much for her; that she was going to scream or cry at any moment. There was nothing worse than fucking a crying woman, in his mind. Except perhaps fucking a crying little bird.

"You're shaking."

He looked down. The girl was looking at him like no one had ever looked at him before. Her voice was soft and intimate in his ears; her palms were smoothing over his biceps which were, as she had quite rightly pointed out, trembling. One small, delicate hand came up to the back of his neck and drew his face down to hers.

"Don't be nervous," she whispered, brushing her lips sweetly against his.

He's fucked half a hundred women before now and he's never once been nervous about it, save for the very first. He wanted to laugh in her face at the suggestion. He would have done that before now. Instead he let his hips settle into a rhythm, slowly but surely picking up the pace as the tense look on the girl's face - his _wife's_ face - gave way to something less pained. His thighs slapped against hers, the bed rocked and banged against the wall and the pleasure built in his groin, taking him higher and higher, cresting on a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Lowering himself against her, he buried his face in her neck. After all this time, she was finally his. His softness, his kindness, his gentleness; everything about her was his to be devoured and cherished. A wife of his own, to be his and for him to be hers, and babes to be theirs when the time came. It was more than he'd ever wanted, so much more than he deserved.

Sandor squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the tears coming, nuzzling his face into her neck. Giving a muffled sob against her skin that he hoped she would take for a moan, he came deep inside of her, his cock and balls pulsing so badly it brought fresh tears to his eyes. The world went black for a moment, and everything else apart from him and his little wife ceased to exist. When he came back to his senses, he found his head lying on her chest, her hands stroking his hair. Soon enough, she gave a little wriggle underneath him. "You're very heavy."

Slipping out of her, he rolled onto his side and lay next to her on the bed, but not before pulling the covers over them both. The silence was deafening now, after all that moaning and slapping and banging.

"Now you're married for sure, after a fucking like that." He was never one for sweet words, however much he knew she deserved them. But he would try, for her. He pulled her atop him and wrapped his arms around her."But I did not satisfy you."

Her wide eyes gazed into his with surprise. "My lord?"

His little bird was still truly an innocent, even after losing her maidenhead. He would have to see to that later. "You did not have your pleasure," he rasped.

She kissed him again.

"In the morning, I will see your face," she said, nodding. For the first time, he saw something akin to happiness shine in her eyes. "And I will be satisfied."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think!


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